The Bones of the Old Ones (Dabir and Asim) (35 page)

“Ai-a—” I struggled for some kind of rejoinder, finally saying, gruffly, “Just be on with it.”

“Put your finger to the animal’s head. Just so. Now move your finger about the blaze carved into his forehead. To the left. Your left. Yes. Now press your thumb in, and repeat after me.”

He enunciated a series of sounds very slowly, as though I were a simpleton. I repeated after him, and by Allah, the horse grew under my finger. At the same moment, I could also sense things in proximity to the wooden beast, including myself. It was most peculiar, for it felt as though I were in two places at once. I had not been so disoriented even when I had once suffered a head blow, and wondered if this was what being drunk was like. I clambered into the cushioned saddle of the life-sized wooden stallion with emerald eyes and carved mane. “Now what?”

“What you will it to do, it shall!”

The shamaness had handed over the glowing blue staff to Najya, who raised it high. The Khazars began to chant three syllables over and again.

Berzbek set to working through the steps to fire the magic of the club. I could only see her part of the time, as the form carried her forward and back, behind various people upon the platform, but well did I know those steps.

“By all that is holy, Dabir, hurry!”

Dabir was raising his wooden creatures to life, one by one. Another horse. One wooden man, a second, this one with a cracked torso and a notch in his back. Probably the same I’d fought in Mosul. A second bull, this one with longer and sharper-looking horns.

The staff was now almost incandescent with light in Usarshra’s grip.

“Dabir!” I shouted.

“A moment! I’ll get Lydia, you get the bones.” He sent the bull galloping toward the slope. “Now!” Dabir cried, raising his arms as will a man shooing a horse.

My horse did nothing until I wished that it should do so, and then it sprang forward, and it is only my fine reflexes that enabled me to latch onto the handles carved into its mane.

The guards at the hillside saw us too late. The wooden bull plowed straight into one of them. Two others dived for safety. Only one was left to grab wide-eyed for his sword as I came galloping up. I slashed down and caught him hard in the shoulder. He dropped in a welter of blood, most of his screech drowned out by the unchanging chant of the crowd.

Then I was galloping up a snowy hill on the padded back of a wooden horse with jeweled eyes. The bull raced before me, and the snake came at my side. The Khazars cheered something I could not see, a thousand voices as one that might have shaken the throne of God, and surely struck fear in the nearer residents of Mosul. The noise covered our advance nicely.

As I mounted the hill I saw Najya cast down the crumbling staff and take the lit club of Herakles from the round shaman woman. Berzbek’s face was wide in astonishment just before the bull slammed headlong into her and sent her tumbling downslope into the prisoners. Lydia’s guards turned for their swords, and the wily Greek slipped away from them, almost tripping over the snake that sped for Enkidu.

I bore on toward Najya. The club glowing in one hand, she thrust her palm toward the bull and a blast of cold sprayed forth so quickly that the wooden creature was encased in ice, midgallop.

The chanting below had faltered, and there were cries of dismay as well, for as I slowed to grab the club of Herakles I glimpsed the rest of the wooden figures running wild through the crowd.

A wave of uncertainty struck me as I reached toward Najya. I could not recall why I should want the club at all, nor why I should be upon the stage struggling against my one true love. But Enkidu’s confusion lifted at the same time there was a flash of eldritch fire off to my right, and I heard Erragal shouting wizardly commands.

From out of nowhere he had come to join us.

I could spare no attention, for a smiling Najya had touched her hand to my horse. White ice was born suddenly in the joints of its legs and spread upwards in sheets. It struggled mightily, but was swiftly overwhelmed, and began to wobble beneath me.

There was nothing for it. I jumped clear.

Now I had no intent of skewering Najya, or I might have slashed. I landed well, sliding only a little in the snow.

She glared at me, and the frigid air around her stung my face.

From every side I saw the snow women rising from the earth, rank upon rank of them. And then, over Najya’s shoulder, there was a flash of blue flame speeding toward her from a figure on the far edge of the hill. Erragal. I reacted without thinking.

“Down!” I dropped the sword and tackled the woman into the snow. A terrific blast of flame passed over us both and what was left of the nearby frost women rained down across us. Najya lay half beneath me, looking a little dazed.

“Asim?” she said weakly. Her brown eyes locked with mine and I drank deep of their beauty.

And then she was gone from me, and I looked into the blue eyes of a snarling spirit. I pushed up, grabbing the club. Usarshra shouted in dismay as I pulled it free.

“Asim!” Dabir called for me from somewhere ahead. “Hurry!”

I took stock of my situation as I dashed forward, and discovered the promised chaos. The Khazars were rushing for the hill, though the wooden animals running circles through their ranks were a fine impediment. Nearer at hand the guards who’d kept the stage with Najya were down, crushed and gored by the second bull. A dozen snow women closed on Dabir and Lydia, she sitting back of him astride a wooden horse.

Enkidu was struggling to his feet as one of the wooden men hammered at him and the snake bit into one leg. White-robed Erragal lashed out with another blast of eldritch flame as a troop of Khazars charged the stage.

I sprinted for the remaining wooden bull a spear’s cast away. Allah knows I never meant to sit astride a real one, much less one fashioned from lumber, but I saw no other way free. Erragal whipped around and sent a stream of blue fire coursing only a knife’s breadth from my shoulder. Behind me Najya screamed in rage.

As I ran, I thought about the steps of the club’s form, and the weapon lit in my hands. No longer was it bright with energy. My senses were still greater than normal, but stretched barely to the edges of the stage. The club was a vessel drained dry of all but a few last sips.

Between me and the bull two vaporous snow women rose up with outstretched arms. I gritted my teeth and charged through them. The club flared at the mere thought of combat and both burned in a flash before me. I vaulted onto the bull. Dabir sent the thing moving before I could find a place to take hold, and I wobbled precariously on the hard surface. Pure chance tipped me forward, and I snagged one carven ridge with my left hand while the right wrapped around the haft of the club.

Dabir’s mount ran at my side as we charged across the height of the hill. Lydia clung to Dabir’s shoulders while I cleared the way with swings of the club. The snow women were no longer as fragile to casual touch, possibly because the potency of their mistress had grown and not just because the club was diminished.

Erragal vanished, then instantly reappeared in a dozen places on either side of us, a small army of one wizard, each wielding eldritch fire toward Najya. “Go!” they shouted as one. “I shall follow!”

So we went, down the hill and away through more lanes of tents, our tireless wooden mounts galloping on and on. The rest of Koury’s animals had not survived.

In mere minutes we were past a group of Khazar guards too astonished to give chase, and then we were riding on through the ruins.

“God is great!” I shouted in exultation. Once more we had defied the odds. “Where do we ride?” I called to Dabir.

“Straight to the conjuration circle,” Lydia shouted. “West of Mosul!”

Allah, but I grew sore riding on that bull. Koury might have designed it to be capable of transport, but he had not intended that for its primary use, for there was no saddle. Riding that creature was akin to slamming repeatedly against a plank of timber.

I looked back time and again for signs of pursuit but saw nothing through the mounded ruins and broken walls. I wondered briefly how we might cross the Tigris until we came to it and discovered the river frozen solid. Though it was fortunate for us, it was also a disquieting reminder of the level of power employed by our enemies.

Dabir kept us well south of the smoking ruin of Mosul’s outskirts. About the city walls a large force could be seen, only a few of which were men and horses. Countless snow women were there, but most disquieting were the tall transparent shapes in white. One looked like a great bear walking on its hind legs and reaching almost to the battlements. Another was a ghostly elephant, covered over in shaggy white fur. And one was an immense wolf, larger even than the beast Dabir and I had faced, and I swear that it turned its head toward us as we passed, though it did not leave its vigil to pursue.

I tried to imagine what the folk of Mosul must be doing. Frightened soldiers would be manning the walls, and women, children, and the elderly would crowd the mosques. The governor would be consulting his advisors and arming every able-bodied man and boy he could. Likely he would know there was no chance against these monsters, but perhaps they would reason that fire might be useful, and ready oil-soaked catapult missiles and barriers that could be set alight. I was glad that I was not trapped in there with them.

Soon Mosul, too, was behind us, yet on we galloped for another hour, slowing at last as we came in sight of a little valley. Apart from a few scrubby trees and bushes and a low hill near its center, it was entirely unremarkable.

“Straight up for that hill,” Lydia told Dabir.

So on we rode, descending no more than two or three horse lengths to reach the lowland. A perfect circle inset with symbols was burned into the rock at a distance of ten feet from the bottom of the hill, and just on its other side a dark robed figure waited by a small fire. The bone spear lay near him, beside Erragal’s staff, a length of ivory darker than the surrounding snow.

Dabir halted our animals and we swung down. I do not think I had ever been more bruised or stiff from a ride, not even after the first of my life.

“That is Erragal’s servant,” Lydia said, before I might ask.

“Nay,” came the voice from within the hood. A hand cast back the cloth, and we looked then at the Sebitti known as Anzu.

19

Picture this, if you will. A woman and two men stand in a shallow valley under gray winter skies. The larger of the men is helmed and lightly armored. Snow lies a foot deep, stretching clean as far as the eye can see, disturbed only by a muddle of footprints and the straight line tracks of two hoofed creatures coming in from the east and two dark circles, perfectly round, one inside the other, that are burned through the snow, into the ground itself. A mix of letters and numbers—some Greek, some Arabic, but mostly some other strange tongue—fill the space between the circles. The woman, beside the leaner of the men, is small and beautiful, garbed like a Khazar warrior, complete with pants and boots, and her dark, curling hair is ruffled by frigid gusts. Nearer at hand are two life-sized sculptures in dark wood, one a powerful bull, the other a lean and noble stallion, each ornamented with scrollwork and occasional bits of jewelry and gold. They are motionless.

Just the other side of the rim stands a short, booted figure in a black robe near a campfire, and beside him is a strange spear, an ivory staff, and a small hump of blackish cloth from which old human bones protrude.

Behind the figure a small, steep hill rises some ten feet above the valley. On that hill is a stunted olive tree, barren of leaves and ornamented only by snow.

“I have not come to fight you,” Anzu told us. “Erragal summoned me to aid him. But he is dead.”

“What do you mean?” I asked. My hands tightened upon the club.

He glanced quizzically at me.

“How do you expect us to trust anything you say?” Dabir demanded.

“It doesn’t matter now.” Anzu shrugged. “Erragal’s dead. He teleported back, but most of him didn’t make it.” His eyes traveled to an off-white pile of robes I hadn’t noticed a few paces to the right.

I watched Anzu as Dabir advanced to look, turning up the cloth. I caught the barest glimpse of Erragal’s hair and a blood red mass below and then Dabir hastily drew the cloth back over. He looked horrified.

“How did it happen?” Lydia demanded.

“Someone or something must have pulled or grabbed at him as his transport spell went off,” Anzu explained sadly. “Maybe the other part of him was frozen in place. I do not know.”

“What are those bones from?” I asked, pointing at the pile beneath the black cloth.

“His servant collapsed in on itself the moment Erragal died.”

“How do we know this isn’t some trick of yours?” I asked.

He considered me wearily. “If I still wanted the staff and spear, I could have vanished with them. Erragal left them with me when he went after you.”

“The servant was still standing,” Lydia said after a moment, “when Erragal sent me to the spirit’s camp. And he may well have called Anzu. He told me he was thinking about pulling in more aid.”

This seemed unlikely, especially in light of the attack on Erragal’s palace. “I thought you were trying to kill him,” I said to Anzu.

“Kill Erragal?” He sounded as though I had suggested blasphemy. “No. I admired him too much.” At our incredulous expressions, he continued. “Koury and Gazi are dead. Enkidu’s allied with the doomsday cult. It didn’t take much convincing when Erragal called upon me. And besides, I’m partly to blame for all this.”

“Partly?” I would have said more, but his casual manner confounded me.

Dabir was uncharacteristically silent through this exchange and wore a troubled expression when I turned to him for reaction. He ran his fingers along his beard, then slowly faced Lydia. “So,” Dabir said glumly to her, “we shall have to activate the circle ourselves. It is complete, is it not?”

“With what shall you power it?” Anzu interrupted.

Dabir pointed to the spear, and I indicated the club.